


Seasons

by Aryas_aria



Series: Jonrya Week 2020 [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, a game of thrones - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 10:28:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22494598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aryas_aria/pseuds/Aryas_aria
Summary: Jon and Arya reflect on all the seasons of their lives
Relationships: Jon Snow/Arya Stark
Series: Jonrya Week 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612894
Comments: 10
Kudos: 50
Collections: Jonrya Week: January 2020





	Seasons

“Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence. Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance. Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence. Winter passes and one remembers one's perseverance.” ― Yoko Ono

***

 _“On this the fiftieth celebration of King Jon and Queen Arya’s marriage and coronation!_ ” The great Hall of the Red Keep erupted in loud shouts of praise and cheer at the herald’s declaration. The noise strains her ears a bit, but Arya squeezes Jon’s arm lightly as they make their way to the dance floor, slowly, for he is an old man now.

“May I have this dance, my lady?” He gives a dramatic flourish, but his hip won’t allow him to bow so low as he once might have. She blushes prettily and he thinks the soreness will be worth it tomorrow.

“Anything for my king,” she answers taking his hand as the singers start a tune. They’ve mercifully slowed it down for her and Jon to be able to dance to it, but with her bad leg and his aching hip, it still isn’t as graceful as they once were. She finds she doesn’t mind if they dance a little too slow or forget to spin, she likes it like this, the two of them dancing to their own tune. It’s always been that way after all.

“I loved a maid as fair as summer—“

“Oh not this one,” she groans and he laughs as the singers start anew. “I hate this song! You’d think they’d have come up with better songs by now,” she pouts, and it reminds him of the Arya that was eight years old and angry at her septa.

“It’s not so bad, my love,” he teases. “I loved a maid as white as winter with moonglow in her hair,” he sings softly to annoy her.

“Jon Targaryen you stop that this instant or I’ll leave for Dragonstone immediately.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he laughs, “you love bossing me around far too much.”

“Just wait and see,” she throws back.

“Oh come now love, why do you hate the song so much?”

“A maid for every season? It’s as barbaric as the first night in its own way if you ask me.”

“The trick is to have one girl last all the seasons, “Jon answers smoothly, and when did he get so charming? Was it after they spent that summer is Bravos? Ages ago, she might a have fretted over if he said such things to Ygritte or even Daenerys, but not now. Not when both women have been gone for far too many years to count and she and Jon have children and grandchildren both to show just how much they love each other. Arya Horseface might have wondered, but Queen Arya Targaryen knows her place, knows that it has always been front and center in her husband’s heart. So she teases him.

“My hair’s never had moonglow in it, nor have I even been red. Perhaps you meant to marry Sansa,” she quirks an eye brow up. The song has ended now and another has taken its place, but this battle is far from over.

“Oh but it has my love. When you’d swim in the pools in the Godswood at night with me,” he says, looking at her but also long beyond her, to the mischievous girl of eight she had been, “the moon would hit you just so and you’d be aflame in its light for just a moment. Then you’d splash me with water and it would be gone,” he laughs fondly.

“Well, I’ve still never been red,” she mumbles, still wanting to tease a bit more but blushing at the memory he has just shared.

“You’re red right now,” he counters, dragging a hand across her cheek. No One wouldn’t have blushed so easily, but she hasn’t been No One for half a century, never truly was. “Arya, my sweet, I know for a fact that you get red all over,” he smiles again, a bit more pointed.

“You dirty old man!” She swats his arm and he laughs loudly, not caring a fig how it will look to the crowd. They’re far from being appalled at the queen abusing the king in such a public way after all this time.

“Oh Arya,” the laughter drifting off of his lips in a wistful sigh, “sunlight in your hair or no, you’ve been with me through every season.”

“Hmmm,” she purrs contently, snuggling up to his chest, more rocking than dancing. “We promised we’d do it together, didn’t we Jon?”

“Aye my love, we did.” He kisses the top of her head.

***

They’re in bed far later than normal, but the feast had gone on for hours and it had been such a good day. She and Jon rarely had such sunny and warm days where they could do nothing and be together, so they indulged a bit more than they should have. The maids had a time undressing both of them, but eventually, they huddled into bed together, warm and safe.

“What I said earlier,” he begins, causing them both to lay up in bed, “every season of my life with you…I’ve never wanted to spend it with anyone else. Summer was our childhood,” he clasps one of her hands tightly. “Summer was the snow fights in the Godswood and Old Nan’s stories and sneaking tarts from the kitchens, even your crooked stitches and Father’s solemn face, my love.”

“You pretending to be a ghost in the crypts,” she adds, eyes crinkling at the memory. “And Sansa singing about some silly knight while you and Robb battled in the yard and Rickon laughed and Bran climbed and Hodor was happy and Maester Luwin walked so slow with his chains.”

“Yes, my love,” he looks to her with so much tenderness, “but summer ended when Bran fell.”

“When he was pushed,” she interjects, venom still in her voice after all these years, despite everything life has given back to Bran and their family. “When the king came and you left for the Wall, that was when autumn began, “her voice has grown thick, “I thought it was Winter then, especially when I had to let Nymeria go, but not for true. Winter came—“

“When they killed father,” he nods in understanding, “and then Robb and your mother, when Bran and Rickon went into hiding and Sansa escaped to the Vale, when--when I wasn’t there to protect you—“

“But I survived anyway because winter has never scared a Stark,” she finishes before he can blame himself again, a lifetime together never truly erasing the guilt he felt. “Winter was so long for us, Jon, wasn’t it? It was war after war after war and lies and betrayal and death. But then it ended,” she says, joy in her voice because they have both lived through all of that pain and misery but it couldn’t break them, no matter how much it tried.

“Yes my love, it ended when we killed the Night King and defeated Cersei,” he gives her a smile. “But Spring, ah spring,” he sighs wistfully, “spring started the day I married you,” he kisses her lips.

“We’ve had such a long spring,” she kisses him back. “First Aemon and then Lyanna and Robb and Baelor, then Sansa’s children and Rickon’s, and then all of their children,” she laughs. “I never dreamed spring could be so sweet when I was little. I thought the summer would never end,” a tear escapes from her eyes, but he wipes it away gently.

“Thank you, my love, thank you for spending your life with me,” he brings his burned hand up to mess her hair, bringing more tears to her eyes, and a few to his own.

She lifts a hand to his face, it’s slow and shaky and not nearly as strong as it once was, and takes his other hand away from her hair to clasp it in her own firmly. And his face, that handsome man he had been even at fifteen and brooding! The lines and scars littering his skin now hide than boy well, but his eyes show that he is still there, still Jon. “We did it my love,” she whispers, not even inches apart, “we grew old together.”

“I promised you we would love,” he smiles back. She lets out a little laugh, reaching over to litter his face with kisses. The gesture makes them both feel young again, and when they close their eyes, Arya knows they are both roaming the halls of Winterfell, a light summer snow falling outside and it makes them want to stay there forever. So they do, together.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Jonrya January! This has been such a great week and thank you for reading :)


End file.
